Archive of Our Own ^beta

It wasn’t very often that both of the Lightning Squadran’s Commanding Officers had the day off. Even less so on the same day. Commander Ponds’ cynical Captain would have called it “The Day of Reckoning,” however poor Silver had his blind shebs shipped off to Concordia for Diplomatic assistance. Otherwise, the kid would have tried to prevent this occurrence tenfold.

The situation reads as such:

One. Both High General Windu and Commander Ponds have a singular day off each tenday. The typical pattern of respite for the two of them is a handful of cobbled-together hours throughout the current month. Yet by a “mishap” of scheduling, all of the hours are smashed together to make the GAR believe they took at least one day off per tenday- when in reality they hadn’t even bothered to check the stardate let alone have a full night's rest.

Two. The 91st’s Alpha Battalion is stationed on Coruscant, where any danger is for Marshall Commander Fox’s Guard to deal with. Should the lingering 41st ships in orbit utterly fail at keeping the nonexistent, totally falsified belief, imaginary Separatist Invasion- that the Senate has been insisting is going to happen at any fleeting moment- at bay, the rest of Lightning Battalion is on standby for convenient assistance of whomever needs them most. Not that either military operations would be in need of a bagful of flighty Recon Specialists.

Three. It is Taungsday; usually, these days are reserved for any sort of emergency Council meetings that have a tendency to crop up, despite lack of necessity. The last one to take place was on the subject of Knight Skywalker’s future Padawan. Which, in Ponds’ professional opinion as the Primary Author of the Jedi Manual[™], strikes the Commander as odd with the history of Knights choosing their own younglings rather than a group of old men with opinions. Let alone the opinion that Knight Skywalker is too brash to even be Knighted in the first place.

At this point, it's best to take Mace’s advice and “Blame the Frog”. Ponds does, indeed, blame the Frog for many things.

In truth, the day wasn't even entirely theirs to do with as they wanted. There’s always the Morning Briefings with the Men and, of course, the “Mandatory” youngling check-ins for whenever they visit the temple. For every one of their visits, Ponds always opts for his softest fatigues. Dressing down for those he considered precious.

But all of those tasks were exclusive to the Afternoon which was more like Morning to everyone else's perspective. With those chores done, Mace has retired to his quarters with the remaining reports from the Tenday on his datapad.The General is settled on his usual meditation pillow in the corner of the public living space, with his Commander having thrown himself over the back of the couch, as though he were a decorative blanket, with a flimsi-plast bound book.

After some time spent in contempt silence, Ponds drops the book on his chest with a loud sigh, of which Mace pays absolutely no mind to. Despondent with the General’s lack of response, Ponds takes a deep breath and lets out an even louder long winded sigh. The Commander wasn’t usually one to throw a fit or beg for attention, but it’s been a long few weeks and CMO Cyclone already kicked him out of medical for posturing. A plan to garner a response from the ambivalent jetti is already underway.

“Sounds entertaining” Mace mumbles, not even bothering to pull his nose out of the damned crew manifest or even offer a courtesy glance over his shoulder towards the melodramatic Commander. Evidently, someone needs to “kick the Officer out of his chair” as Bly likes to say. Ponds snaps the book shut with as much force as he can and levels a glare at the back of Mace’s head.

“For your information, it's a Jedi-Clone Romantic Drama I got from Y O U R” he waved the book semi-threateningly at his General’s back, as the pages flapped pathetically. “Child!” That should garner some attention, if not because of mentioning Depa then simply due to the content of the literature.

“Depa is not my child, she is my Former padawan- one who would not be reading such distasteful garbage.” Mace has switched from the crew manifest to an overly color-coded chart displaying the rough locations of his Corps’ Ships, his tone dipping into disdain at the mention of what unintelligible literature Ponds was reading, but other than that he is largely unbothered by the threatening hypocrisy. At this rate either all Jedi are blind or they really don’t care about being blatant hypocrites.

“If she isn't your kid,” Ponds rolls himself off of the terrible lump of living room seating, flopping in the perfect position to glare even harder at the disinterested jetii- “Then why, oh great High Counselor, do you display Classic signs of attachment in the form of this,” the Commander earns himself a raised brow glance at the mention, all while digging his lyth arm into the couch cushions- pulling out a well-loved Plush Tooka and holding it up like a trophy.

Mace quirks an eyebrow at his datapad, unimpressed, “Attachment, in this sense, is not what we disapprove of, Ponds; please don’t twist my words- Romantic affiliations, for example: what you were reading about; though, are not allowed and frankly I am disappointed in the both of you.”

Ponds, completely deadpan, ”Jedi really are just that karking stupid, aren’t they.” The look of complete and utter disdain, not to mention the drop of Mace’s head into his hands, is totally worth the future lecture both he and General Billiba have earned.

The Commander pried himself off the floor and walked the short few steps towards his General, ”What are you going to do?” Mace is pensive about the distance closing, but he doesn't make any move to stop him. Which is the response Ponds was betting on as he drops himself into Mace’s lap with absolutely no sense of decorum, arms looped over his shoulders looking Mace straight in the eye.

“Prove a point,” Ponds wiggles just a tad in the nesting of Mace’s legs, seemingly making himself more comfortable amidst the few datapads still in the lap with him.”You won’t move me- I’m too loveable.” At first Mace looks scandalized, then almost pouty as Pond’s words catch up with him and ring some form of truth.

“If you're going to sit there, then you might as well help me with these Requisition forms.” Mace pried a singular data pad out from underneath Ponds’ thigh, holding it between them in a way they could both see the ridiculous amounts of unnecessary supplies the Natural Born Officers are demanding throughout the 91st Mobile Reconnaissance Corps.